"You what?" Dean demands as he takes off his coat. Head aching, he just had a grueling day of pathophys and epidemiology & biostatistics and spent the past hour daydreaming of vegging out on the couch. But he barely stepped across the threshold before Cas was on him, yammering on about a spell gone wrong.
"I accidentally cursed our apartment," Cas says, wringing his hands.
Jesus Christ. Everyone told him not to move in with a witch. Witches are nothing but trouble. Witches summon demons that wreak havoc on the neighborhood. Witches smell like stinky herbs.
And, yeah, Sam's burrito farts are a goddamn biohazard, but if Dean's learned anything from sharing a bedroom with his witchy little brother, it's not to trust stereotypes.
Plus, it's not like Cas, graduate student of the Occult School, brings in anything worse than Dean, graduate student in the School of Nursing. Between the two of them, Dean definitely holds the lead in coming home splattered with questionable fluids. Cas is practically Mr. Clean compared to him.
"Start from the beginning," Dean says, rubbing his forehead. “What’s the spell do?”
“It traps anyone who enters its borders,” Cas says, shoulders hunched and face apologetic.
“Okay, so, what,” Dean says, “is the kitchen off limits? ’Cause that’ll be a problem for Future Dean, the way I figure it.”
Cas shakes his head. “It’s already trapped us. We can’t leave this floor.”
“How…?” Dean drifts off, stunned.
Cas’s mouth twists. “My containment perimeter had a breach that I didn’t notice until too late. The spell naturally expanded to the next man-made boundary.”
“Great,” Dean says sourly as he plops down on the couch. He might as well make himself comfortable if he’s not leaving anytime soon. “I assume it can be broken, right? We won’t be trapped here forever?” He reaches for the remote and puts on an episode of Scooby Doo to play in the background with the sound turned low.
Cas perches on the other side of the couch, half-facing Dean, half-facing the television. “It can be broken.”
Without looking at him, Dean asks, “Lemme guess, you need a shitton of rare ingredients delivered that we don’t have here?”
Truthfully, it could be worse. He’s spent plenty of fun weekends staying in with Cas, squabbling over whose turn it was to use the stove for frying burgers (Dean) or boiling hiccup cures (Cas). As long as Cas springs for next-day delivery, Dean could be looking at freedom in under 48 hours.
“Not exactly,” Cas says, and Dean looks up.
Cas has a distinctly squirrelly look around his eyes.
Warning bells go off in Dean’s head, honed from years of listening to Sam stutter through completely implausible lies ( demon blood did it, really? Are you sure it isn’t your skanky girlfriend? ) “So what’ll it take?” Dean asks, frowning as he flits through more and more implausible answers.
“The exercise was to incorporate a verbal key to undo the spell,” Cas says slowly.
“Have you already tried Open Sesame?” he tries, only part joking.
“It’s not a catchphrase,” Cas deadpans.
“Good, ’cause you kind of suck at that game,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “Who the hell uses ‘popular shipping insulation’ as a clue for Peanuts?”
“That’s what peanuts do!”
“You could’ve just said ‘Snoopy’ and I would’ve gotten it like that .” He snaps his fingers.
Cas scowls. “You know I am not as well versed in non-magical pop culture.”
Dean’s expression softens. “Yeah.” He coughs and fiddles with the remote. “So what’s the magic word this time?”
Cas swallows. “Words, plural - the spell requires secrets to open.”
“Secrets,” Dean repeats flatly. “Really?”
“The more intimate, the more valuable,” Cas confirms miserably.
“Seriously?” Dean asks, staring at Cas in horror. “You couldn’t have made the solution, like, Led Zeppelin lyrics?”
“The key has to be something valuable.”
Dean throws him an outraged look. "Did you just call the greatest band in the history of music not valuable?"
Cas rolls his eyes. "Not in the context of this spell, not exactly."
“Great, just great,” Dean says sourly as he sinks back in the cushions and stares out at the television without absorbing any of the cartoon action going on on screen.
“Would you rather… wait?” Cas ventures cautiously.
“No, better to get it over with,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair.
“I’ll go first,” Cas volunteers, his voice understandably subdued. “I lied last weekend when you invited me to the beach. I wasn’t busy, but I didn’t want to go because I can’t swim.”
Dean blinks. Cas had been weirdly evasive when Dean asked him what he was up to instead.
“Your turn,” Cas says stiffly.
“You can’t swim?”
“I’ve never learned.”
“Plenty of people can’t swim,” Dean says, not getting why Cas kept this a secret at all, “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Andrea didn't even go in the water.”
“I don’t own a swimsuit either.”
“You could’ve borrowed one of mine,” Dean says fairly.
“It was just easier if I stayed behind.” Cas reddens, his gaze dropping to his knees. “Your truth, Dean,” he reminds him.
As Cas nods encouragingly, Dean tries, “I once cheated on a history test?”
“I borrowed my sister’s car and dented the side door. I blamed my younger brother when she found out.”
“I peed myself the first time I saw The Exorcist.”
“My first job was at a Gas-n-Sip in high school, and they fired me after a month.”
"I listened to a Taylor Swift song on the radio yesterday, and I liked it. I liked it a lot."
Cas cracks a smile. "I like Taylor Swift.”
“You also like prime numbers and trench coats,” Dean says wryly. He grins. “Sometimes you’re just way off base, man.”
Cas frowns. “What’s wrong with my coat?”
“It makes you look like a flasher,” Dean says promptly.
“I’m not a flasher.”
“Dude, I know.” He pauses. “Does that even count as a truth?”
“I have no idea,” Cas says as he gets up and heads into his room. He emerges with a spindly metallic doodad in his hands. It’s delicate hands sway slightly even though there’s no breeze in their apartment. Cas glares down at it. “According to my measurements, we’re about a quarter of the way there.”
“Seriously?”
Cas falls back into his seat. “I suppose we need deeper secrets.”
Dean’s stomach fills with lead. A secret pops to mind, one that would probably blow Cas’s stupid secret measurer out of the water. He clears his throat as Cas’s head whips around to stare at him. But under his scrutiny, Dean chickens out. “You first,” he mutters.
Cas rolls his eyes. “I’ve participated in an orgy.”
Whatever Dean had been expecting as Cas’s deep, dark secret, kinky sex acts were not on that list. In all the times he’s tried to picture Cas’s sex life, he’s only come up with a big fat blank. Cas has never dated the entire time Dean has known him. Honestly, Dean would’ve thought he was a virgin, except he hangs out with that Meg Masters, who would never be caught dead in the vicinity of any virgin unless it was to make a ritual sacrifice.
“What? How? When?”
Cas’s expression closes off. “The truth doesn’t require elaboration.”
“Had we met yet?”
“Dean -”
“Had we?”
“No,” Cas says with finality. “It was while I was an undergraduate student. Beltane - I had not adequately been warned.”
“Huh,” Dean says faintly. He gives himself a little shake. He needs a truth. No, no that truth. But something big enough to count for Cas’s secret-hungry curse. “I once almost sold my soul to a demon,” he says in a low voice.
Cas jumps like he'd just been zapped and stares at Dean, his blue eyes wide. “You almost sold your soul? When?”
Dean grimaces. “’M pretty sure the truth doesn’t require elaboration or some bullshit like that.”
Cas lips press together in a thin line. “When?” he repeats.
“We were kids,” Dean admits with a sigh. “My dad was out of town, and Sam fell in with a bad crowd. He wound up literally stabbed in the back - plus a concussion. If he didn’t pull through, I had all the stuff ready for the nearest crossroads. Thank god the nurses and the docs worked their magic.”
Cas’s rigid posture loses some tension. “I’m glad Sam pulled through.”
“Yeah, since I’m pretty sure I’d be in Hell by now,” Dean says, forcing a smile on his face. “Your turn.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been truly happy,” Cas says, glancing down at the instrument in his hands. “I’ve been content before. I’ve appreciated the route of flowers. I’ve masturbated, which is very satisfactory but also very fleeting.” He shrugs. “I adore my work, my friends. What am I missing?”
Dean gulps, but the words catch in his throat again.
Cas checks the secret measurer again. “I think one big one might do it,” he says hopefully.
Right, well, here goes nothing.
Cas says, “I ate the last slice of pie you were saving,” while Dean blurts, “I have feelings for you.”
Dean stares at him, his face heating to approximately a thousand fucking degrees.
Cas doesn’t help, sitting there with his perfect, gobsmacked face, not saying a word.
“Right,” Dean says, eyeing the secret measurer, which has gone haywire. The top bit is spinning like the secret lovechild of a fork and a windmill. He jumps to his feet. “Looks like the spell’s broken, so I’m going to-”
“Wait,” Cas says quickly as he reaches over to grab Dean’s arm. “You like me?”
Dean’s jaw clenches. He can’t take it back, but he can’t say it again.
“I had no idea,” Cas says, his voice and eyes unbearably kind.
“It’s fine,” Dean says, looking away. “Forget it.”
“Why?” Cas’s grip has turned to iron around Dean’s forearm. Meeting Dean’s gaze squarely, he answers his own question after an excruciatingly long moment, “You don’t think I like you back.”
Dean falters. “Because you don’t?”
Cas just stares at him as butterflies take flight in the pit of Dean’s stomach.
“But,” Dean starts, “You never said anything. Not even for the spell.”
Cas tilts his head, a rueful expression coming over his face. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”
oughhh what wouldn’t i have given for cas getting to hold an actual baby jack. like imagine that. he would be so gentle. so loving. staring down at the face of his tiny little baby son with love and adoration in his eyes. brushing his soft baby hair from his forehead. giving him the gentlest of little kisses. cradling jack to his chest to keep him close and to keep him safe. never wanting to let go.
SUPTOBER DAY TWELVE: HELLBOUND → there will probably be a part two/expansion of this at some point, but for now, here's cas diving down to save dean from hell 🔥
Dean sips his whiskey and glowers across the bar at his own reflection. His wrist is burning like a brand, but it’s probably all in his head. The stupid timers don’t cause physical pain when they reach T-minus zero, Houston we have a problem. The numbers freeze, and that’s that.
Dean’s had counted down to nothing at exactly 4:01 PM, fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes of running into his soulmate, getting his number, continuing on his way to this bar, and telling the bartender to keep ‘em coming.
He refuses to look at the far corner of the room, the booth he had reserved like an idiot. Four PM, party of two, under the name Winchester.
On the bar by his glass, his phone is still lit up with Cas’s texts from the past hour.
Cas 3:11
I’m so sorry I have to move our appointment.
My client just unexpectedly switched our time to 4pm.
Cas 3:21
I think I’ll be able to escape by 4:30. Can I meet you then?
Dean had responded with a thumbs-up emoji. He didn’t have it in him to say any more.
Cas 3:50
This city is impossible to navigate. How does anyone live here?
Cas 3:58
You were right, I should have rented a car.
Three minutes after Cas’s last text, Dean ran into his soulmate. Right on schedule.
As far as first meetings go, it hadn’t been as much of a shitshow as Dean had expected.
The dude was attractive, at least, and the first thing he did after bumping into Dean was apologize. But he was wearing a tailored suit and glued to his phone, so it definitely could have been better.
His soulmate would’ve run off none the wiser, except Dean had to blurt, “Wait!” because, despite his disappointment, Dean couldn’t let his soulmate disappear into the throngs of Michigan Avenue. Dean wasn't about to fall to one knee, but he also couldn't let his best shot just go.
The man stopped, irritated. His gaze refused to linger on Dean, instead fixating on a building at the end of the block.
Head swimming with too many thoughts to name, Dean couldn’t get the right words out. He gestured mutely to his wrist, pulling up the flannel to show him.
Eyes widening with understanding, his soulmate quickly tugged up the cuff of his sleeve, only sparing a second to verify his own timer stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice.” he said, distracted. “My name is James. Here,” he fished out a pen and something to write on from various pockets of his trench coat, “my number. We… should talk. Later.” He scowled, raising his other wrist to check at his watch. “I need to go.”
“Sure, man,” Dean said, mostly grateful he didn’t have to stick around and have some heart-to-heart with a stranger that was apparently meant for him. Whatever the fuck that actually meant.
“Thank you,” James said swiftly. Without another word, he took off back down the street.
Dean didn’t bother to watch him go. He had a barstool waiting with his name on it.
Sam will laugh himself silly once Dean tells him his perfect match wound up being some corporate suit. Dean once told him he’d rather microwave his own head than set foot in an office cubicle.
Sammy was the big soulmate skeptic in the family. He found his non-timer approved other half while he was protesting an illegal dismissal of a disabled employee. Three years later, when Sam bumped into Gabriel Crawford in a strip club at midnight on Dean’s birthday, he discovered Gabe was perfectly happy to let Sam live his apple pie life while Gabe continued to party like it was 1999.
Gabe made Sam promise to look him up if Eileen was ever down for a threesome.
Turned out, Eileen was.
Sam most certainly was not.
He still sends Gabe a card for the holidays, and usually Gabe sends him back candy samples from wherever he’s vacationing for the winter.
But everyone else Dean knew bought into the soulmates game, hook, line, and sinker. His parents were soulmates. Benny and Garth both settled down with theirs. Charlie and Aaron were holding out for theirs. Hell, even Jo had her weird thing with Bela Talbot.
Dean would’ve counted himself among their number - until he met Cas.
Well, until Cas messaged him on Bobby’s new ask-a-mechanic feature on the garage’s website. Cas had inherited a banged up 1967 Mustang and had no idea where to start with restoration. Apparently Gabe of all people was staying with Cas at his place in southern California, and he recommended Dean.
Why Cas couldn’t just look up a local place still baffles Dean to this day, but he has never been more grateful for Cas’s weird-ass logic.
Their relationship had stayed strictly professional until Cas’s actual car broke down on some random highway in California. Dean had tried to talk Cas through the repair himself, but it was no use. Cas either didn’t have the equipment for the fix, or Dean didn’t diagnose the right problem. Dean was about to hang up, when Cas had asked, clearly embarrassed, “Would you please stay on the line? I have this irrational fear of being murdered in the middle of nowhere where nobody can find my body for proper rites.”
Dean, almost surprising himself, didn’t laugh. Instead, he said, “Sure thing. Wanna put me on hold while you get in touch with Triple A?”
He spent an hour and a half on the phone with Cas, telling him stupid stories about the worst things people have done with their cars.
In return, Cas told him all about the stars that were just coming out in the darkening desert sky.
The week after, Bobby’s garage received a gift certificate in the mail. It was for a weeklong stay at the Chicago location of the five-star hotel chain Cas works for, in Dean’s name.
Those little chocolates on the pillows ruined Dean for motels everywhere.
At the bar, Dean signals the bartender for a refill. He glares down at his phone. The little rectangle contains his entire history with Cas, call logs, text receipts, everything.
He can’t look at it any longer. He shoves it in his pocket, and the receipt with his soulmate’s phone number crinkles in protest. With a sigh, Dean takes out the flimsy piece of paper.
James’s handwriting is neat, so Dean doesn’t even have the excuse of not being able to read a digit or two.
Maybe Dean will give him a call after his drink with Cas. Hopefully, once James finds out that Dean’s just a mechanic, lives in a shoebox apartment in Bucktown, and has never been to Aspen or the Alps, he’ll tell Dean to take a hike.
Dean flips the receipt over, and his stomach gives a sickening lurch. In pretentious curlicue lettering, the first words Dean reads are, The Nine Spheres.
James is staying at Cas’s hotel.
Fucking great. Dean crumples the receipt and shoves it back in his pocket. With his luck, James will probably want to meet in the restaurant on the first floor, the fancy-ass place with the steakhouse burger and truffle fries Dean would actually sell his soul for.
Dean actually dreamed about that burger, a few months after his Cas-sponsored stay. When he told Cas about it, Cas let out a bark of laughter.
In the next breath, though, he told Dean he does the same when he’s scoping out a new location and can’t stay at a nearby Nine Spheres.
Dean tips back his glass of whiskey. It’s stopped burning on the way down his throat, a good sign.
He was so stupid, thinking he could fuck with destiny, fate, or whatever shitty power up there decides soulmates.
Once Cas told him about his business trip to his neck of the woods, Dean had taken one look at the numbers on his arm counting down and did the math. He would meet his soulmate smack dab in the middle of Cas’s window in Chicago.
He could make Cas be his soulmate. Cas never brought up his timer, if it was still ticking, if he’d already met his other half. And Dean, coward that he was, never asked. If he didn’t know for sure, then there was that slim, slim chance that theirs matched up after all.
But no, Cas had to go and switch up their meeting time at the last second, and Dean had run into James instead.
His pocket buzzes with a new text. Mood lower than Cas’s voice register, Dean slides his phone out.
Cas 4:38
My meeting is over. Should I still meet you at the same place?
Dean 4:39
Yeah
Hope its okay I got started without you
Cas 4:40
More than okay, considering my scheduling difficulties.
Dean 4:40
See you soon
Dean sighs and drains his glass.
Foot jiggling on the barstool and eyes trained on his hands clasped in front of him, Dean deliberately does not look around as the door opens.
And opens again.
And again.
Confused and irritated, Dean takes another look around. Above the bar, a chalkboard clearly proclaims Happy Hour from 4:30-6:30 PM. Dean ducks his head, scowling into the remains of his drink. He probably overlooked the sign before because of his single-minded quest to get shitfaced like a freshly-dumped senior at prom stuck next to the spiked punch bowl.
His phone obnoxiously tells him it’s 4:43.
That’s just great. Dean hops off the stool, meaning to ask the hostess if anyone’s asked for Winchester, when James pushes open the door.
Dean stops dead in his tracks.
James freezes, his eyes going wide. His trench coat swishes ominously to a stop.
Should Dean turn around? Pretend he didn’t see? Cas is going to be here any second.
Before he can make up his mind, James is walking towards him. “Hello,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”
Dean swallows. “Me neither,” he says honestly.
James scans the small crowd now gathered around the bar, brow furrowing in concentration. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”
Dean lets out a silent exhale of relief. He musters up a weak smile. “No problem, man. I’ll leave you to it.” As he turns back around, James steps up to the hostess stand.
James says, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the din, “I’m a bit late, but is there a reservation for Winchester? For 4:30?”
Dean could not possibly have heard what he thinks he did. But the timing is right - for once. He spins around, practically losing his balance thanks to the booze he already drank.
The hostess scans her sheet of names, shaking her head. “There was a reservation for Winchester at four PM, but that’s it.”
James’s face falls. Shoulders slumping, he pulls out his phone, squinting as the screen lights up. “He said he was here,” he mutters.
He can’t be Cas. That would be crazy - like, dingo ate my baby, crazy.
“Could be at the bar,” the hostess says flippantly, tilting her head to the crowded area. “Most of ‘em don’t check in.”
James’s lips press together. “Thank you,” he says to the hostess, his tone clipped. “I’ll wait there.”
Dean steps in front of him before James can get lost in the throng of people. “I heard you’re lookin’ for me,” he says with a confidence that’s only 99% bullshit.
James blinks. “You?”
“Dean Winchester, at your service,” he says, spreading his arms wide.
“Dean,” he echoes, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s body, drinking him in with his new eyes.
“Gotta say,” Dean drawls as his heart pounds with nerves. Doubt niggles at the back of his mind like an itch he can’t scratch, but he’s already made his memory foam bed. Might as well lie in it. “Cas is the weirdest nickname for James that I’ve ever heard.”
“My full name is James Castiel Novak,” Cas says, flushing. “James - that’s what I go by professionally. My family calls me Castiel.”
Dean can’t hold back his broad grin. “Family, eh?”
Cas’s expression takes a swift dive from embarrassed to mortified. “And friends,” he tacks on. He takes a step closer, staring at Dean’s face in wonder. “But you’re also my soulmate.”
Dean laughs giddily. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t beat around the bush. Not your style.” He jerks his head towards the bar. “I think I see an open seat. You wanna have that talk now?”
Cas hesitates. “Would you like to go to Nine Spheres instead? I’ve had business dinners every evening I’ve been in Chicago so far, and, while the food has been good-”
“It’s not the steakhouse burger?” Dean finishes for him.
The corners of Cas’s mouth turn down into a slight grimace. “Last night, a client treated us to tapas. I woke up starving.”
Dean smiles. “You know I’m always down for that burger.”
“Excellent,” Cas says with relish as he pushes open the door.
They walk onto the street, and it’s almost offensively quiet after the noise of the bar. It’s a balmy Spring evening, the sun still relatively high in the sky.
“You don’t seem disappointed anymore,” Cas says out of nowhere as they reach the end of the block.
So Cas caught on to that, back when they first ran into each other. Dean shrugs. “I just got stood up by the guy I’d specially set up to meet me at 4:01. Wouldn’t you be?”
Cas clears his throat, asking hoarsely, “You wanted it to be me?”
Dean throws him a look. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Cas just shrugs. The light changes, and they step off the curb.
“Were you… disappointed?” Dean asks hesitantly.
Cas lets out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I didn’t even think - well,” he falters, casting a sidelong look at Dean, “I’m not disappointed. Believe me.”
The automatic doors to Nine Spheres open, hitting them with a burst of perfectly conditioned air. Dean hasn’t stepped foot in the hotel since Cas paid for his stay, but it hasn’t changed one bit. The same tiered giant chandelier glitters overhead. Giant pillars bracket the concierge desk to the left and the enormous staircase to the right that leads up to the second floor rooms. The tiled floor, so polished Dean can practically see his reflection, stretches the length of the lobby.
Dean sticks out like a flannel-wearing sore thumb. “Cas,” he hisses, “hold on. I don’t think I’m dressed right for this place.”
Cas sucks in a breath. “No,” he says as Dean’s heart sinks, “I suppose not.” He jerks his head towards the elevator bay. “Room service?”
Dean blinks.
“I’ve called for the burgers on several occasions at other locations,” Cas assures him. “It tastes as good.”
Was Cas actually trying to convince him to go up to his room? What a dumbass. Dean laughs.
Cas colors, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Forget it,” he mutters. “We don’t-”
“You know, if you invite me up to your room,” Dean cuts him off, “you’re going to have a bitch of a time getting me to leave, right?”
Cas stares at him.
“Dude,” Dean says, “I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice in my life. Between the food, the water pressure, and the robe that felt like I was fucking a cloud, I had enough of a hard time leaving last time.”
“I’m glad,” Cas says stiltedly. “We strive to provide the optimal experience to all our guests.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “’M saying, add you to the mix, and they’re gonna have to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming.”
“And if I don’t want you to leave?” Cas asks in an undertone as he pushes the up button for the elevator.
“Then I guess we don’t have a problem,” Dean says, winking.
Cas’s responding grin falls as the doors close behind them and the elevator starts moving. He shakes his head. “It’s a shame there are cameras in here.”
Dean leans in closer, whispering in his ear, “Doesn’t bother me much. Whaddya say to giving the peeping toms a show, then?”
Cas bites his lip, and this close, Dean can see how his eyes have blown black with want. “I - I can’t.”
It’s like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. Dean steps back, shame filling him. That’s fine. He can regroup. Hopefully Cas will be more receptive behind closed doors. It’s not the first time this has happened, anyway.
“Dean, I have to work with these people every day,” Cas hisses, wringing his hands. “The last time an executive got… busy with a coworker in the pool, the mocking didn’t end for weeks. Not to mention her rebuke from upper management.” He throws Dean a desperate look. “I would like for you to be fully clothed by the time you meet my coworkers for the first time.”
Cas is already planning for Dean to meet his people?
The elevator dings, and Cas steps out. “Are you coming?” he asks hesitantly.
“Oh, yeah,” Dean says quickly. As he follows Cas down the maze of rooms, he has to ask, “You were planning on introducing me to your coworkers?”
Cas’s cheeks pink. “Unless you were opposed to it,” he mutters as he stops in front of Room 1518. He sighs, making no move to insert his keycard. Instead, he lifts his head to meet Dean’s gaze squarely. “I’ve put in a transfer request to Chicago.”
“What?”
“It was before I knew you were my soulmate,” Cas says quickly. “I’ve never felt like I fit in in California, and my parents live in Pontiac. The Chicago office is decently large, and, well, I knew you were here,” he says, his voice going quiet near the end. He straightens. “So there were many reasons.”
“You’re staying?” Dean says, his mouth dry.
Cas bobs a nervous nod. “I hope that’s okay.”
Dean grins. “Sure is.”
Cas touches the inside of his wrist, his expression turning almost shy. “Of course, when I first pictured introductions, it was strictly as a friend. I don’t really know anyone else in this city well, and I’ve told you about my difficulty in social situations, so it would’ve been more for moral support than anything else. But after this evening -”
Dean interrupts his rambling. “Are there cameras in the hallway?”
“What- oh,” Cas says, his eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips before back up again. “Yes?” He points. “They’re all the way down there, though, so they can’t -”
I haven’t followed spn for 5-6 years, and haven’t been in any fandom for almost twice as much, but hoooo boy did all this nonsence suck me in.
so here’s a picture of our dear queer angel with too much heart (and he will always be loved in all the languages)
@darkshrimpemotions I had the same exact thought first time but then I was like actually, this night, the anniversary of cas being taken from him? Dean would big spoon so hard. He would hold onto Cas like a child with a teddy bear. He wouldn’t let go long enough for cas to spoon him as usual. Dean would be holding onto Cas because there’s not a chance he’s letting him go again. And this would carry on into the entire day. Dean would be hanging off cas completely incapable of letting him go. Cas’ll go to the bathroom and Dean will be right there. Cas’ll sit down with a cup of coffee and Dean would just sit in his lap. Like, he’s a clingy clingy disaster, touchstarved as he is, and the anniversary of Cas dying to save him? Dean would be twenty times more insufferable than normal.
But Cas has the patience of a Saint when it comes to Dean, so he just lets him. He just accepts the neediness with gentle touches and soft kisses and when they get back into bed that night, Dean finally relents. Cas tells him to turn over, my love, and slots himself up against Dean’s back and kisses the back of his neck. I’m still here, Dean. I’m not going anywhere. You can rest now. Thank you for keeping me safe.
gummygunk
kianamaiart
andulkaphoto
